Monastery School Teaching in Myanmar

October 27, 2017

The Green Lion

Myanmar’s education system is largely based on memorization. The fortunate ones that have access to education beyond primary school, often spend their days repeating material so often that they learn what to answer to a specific question. It certainly helps to pass standardized tests. So you know in which year some historical event took place? That’s great, but what is your opinion on the subject? I don’t know, because nobody asks.

I went off to the gorgeous city of Mandalay for three weeks, to experience this first-handedly. The Green Lion places participants in a large monastic school: its principal likes to focus relatively more on Critical Thinking. The place is filled with young monks, nuns and Burmese alike: all getting a free education. Let’s see what my English classes will put to the table.

First day is all about observing some Burmese teachers and settling in. You talk about your skill level and preferences: the school has about 6000+ students of all ages, so there’s generally several options. My kids would be 10-15 year olds from the New Teacher Training Center (NTTC). This department is set-up by the school to train methodologies to young teachers, who are often former students of the school. But on the second day, the class is yours.

I walked in and everyone stood up. What’s going on, I didn’t ask them to do anything? The entire class said in choir: “Good morning teacher! How are you?” It’s their routine and simply about showing respect for your teacher. And they really do: some kids straight away gave me a string of fresh flowers to put in my hair. My lovely Burmese co-teacher started with a “Oh by the way, they want you to give them English names”. In Myanmar, people often take a short and easy English name, because Westerners have quite some trouble remembering things like ‘Phyo Thida Kyaw’. In my personal opinion, I feel us visitors ought to toughen up and simply adapt to the Burmese names, but well..

“Uhm, right now? There’s like twenty of them. I… I haven’t even met them. How can I know which name they like or what fits their personality?”

“Well, tomorrow is OK too.”

Me and my little Sophia’s and Marco’s got along great. First class ended with half of them shaking my hand as thanks. Second class ended with shaking my hand and hugs. Before long, they were fighting who could carry my bag down the stairs, struggling to hug me sideways while walking down the steps. This might not be the most kid-proof situation. They don’t do this because I’m God’s gift to teaching: the Burmese kids are always so damn kind. One time, I was bending down to check little Carol’s homework and she picked up a tissue to wipe some sweat off my face. Wait, what? These kids know some next-level appreciation. But oh my Buddha, their hugs will melt your heart.

So how the hell do you conduct a class with kids that barely know the word “cat”? You start with introductions and try their level out. They looooved Hangman, which is a perfect way to end class if you have a few minutes to spare. They knew the ABC, but really needed to practice their basic pronunciation, so I’d correct them first. Tell me again, did you say ‘d’ or ‘t’? Before long, all were screaming letters, literally climbing on their tables out of enthusiasm. It can’t all be fun and games, but studying doesn’t have to be boring either. After some standard classes of new vocabulary, I’d make a wordsearch game or do Word-Bingo with what they learned earlier. That way, you quickly find out who didn’t do their homework.

Pronunciation is an issue anyway. Burmese language uses quite different sounds to English. You know what works for this? She sells seashells by the seashore. We went over the vocabulary, me drawing an ugly beach on the blackboard. Now listen to me and watch how my mouth moves. Sssshhheee. Sells. Seaaassshhhells. By the. Seassshhore. Faster! Again! Shesellsseashellsbytheseashore! Again! What does she sell? I CAN’T HEAR YOU! The kids were clapping, laughing and most importantly: really trying their hardest. The big bug bit the little beetle, but the little beetle bit the big bug back!

Each participants has the best intentions, but it can be tough to teach a class for the first time without experience. There’s always a Burmese co-teacher in the room, but you are the one running the show. The first few days might feel overwhelming. The main thing is to stand there with confidence and good preparation. It’s all about what you make of it and how much you care. Figure out which level the students are at and make sure it builds logically from there. For me, I was glad to find some stellar ESL websites for inspiration and have a kickass Brazilian roommate to debate topics with. We got each other’s back. So mix things up, don’t be shy to give them homework and hey, a little creativity will take you far.

In the afternoon and weekends, it was time for monks. It’s likely participants get to teach them, if you’re not up for kids. These guys are the kindest and funniest people you will ever meet. I’d occasionally attend their evening classes for fun and met a bunch that I quickly became friends with. They end the night with English conversations, yoga and meditation and we were welcome to join. It’s what makes Mandalay so special: you never want to spend your free time on Netflix.

Around 9pm, there was still no stopping the eager monks. They, and an odd Burmese student, would grab me a chair and ask a dozen questions. It became somewhat of an unofficial conversation class. The insanely smart monk SuNanda would ask philosophical things like “What does the word ‘belief’ mean to you?”, while getting interrupted by enthusiastic novices showing me pictures of their village. Monk John would shout “goooood morniiiing” when he wanted attention, and monk Jack would be cracking jokes in general, calling me a spinster because I’m an unmarried 27-year old. If anyone wanted the attention of student Hmwa Hmwa Gyi, we’d just make two kissing sounds. More and more people would show up until there was a small crowd, laughing the night away until the librarian would kick us out hours later. Remember, these guys wake up at 5am to go collect food in the streets. Hardcore.

My weeks of teaching came to an end. With a sinking feeling in my stomach, I said goodbye to everyone. My tiny students bought me melted chocolate and stuffed animals that say “I love you” if you squeeze them. I’m now the proud owner of a barbie doll and one handmade necklace made out of… seashells. The best gifts were the crudely handwritten notes with hearts and “I’ll miss you” on them. The kids hugged me until I couldn’t breathe and planted a few sticky kisses on my cheek. No matter how far and long I go, I remarkably never get homesick. But then came this place… Damn you, Myanmar, I said I wouldn’t cry.